The Kings and the Forges
by lizajay12
Summary: Thorin keeps disappearing from his bed in the middle of the night and Thranduil begins to get suspicious. What is the dwarf king up to and will his behaviour lead to the usual series of misunderstandings? Fifteenth story in my Two Kings/Thorinduil series. The first of the entire series is King of the Antlered Throne and the story preceding this one is The Kings and the Aunty.


The Kings and the Forges

Pt I

The Hammer and the Anvil

Thranduil awoke with a start. Dawn already? But the room was still dark and he stretched luxuriously between the sheets. Then, turning, he reached for Thorin, smiling to himself. The dwarf was always so grumpy if the elf roused him from his dreams: he really liked his sleep! But Thranduil usually managed to tease him into an appreciation that there were things in life that were sometimes worth waking up for.

But, the reaching hand found only a cold and empty space. Puzzled, the elven king turned up the lamp, which merely confirmed that Thorin was nowhere in the room. Feeling slightly concerned, Thranduil slipped out of bed and searched the rest of the apartment, only to find it just as empty. He returned slowly to his bed and tried to go back to sleep. Perhaps Thorin had felt restless for some reason and had gone for a midnight stroll. He would come back soon. But, the elf found it impossible to nod off again.

Some hours later, the elf heard the outer door open very quietly and, after a few moments, the gentle splash of water as someone eased themselves into the marble pool in the other room. This was fed by a constant through-flow of water from a hot spring and was always ready for use. But Thranduil wondered why Thorin felt the need to bathe himself and almost got up to go and ask him where he had been. And yet, something stopped him. And, when Thorin finally crept silently into the room and edged into the bed, the elf found himself shutting his eyes and pretending to be asleep. The dwarf turned his back on his lover, curled up into a tight ball and was soon quietly snoring. Thranduil lay there until dawn, wide awake.

When the dawn finally came, Thorin was still very heavily asleep. And, when Thranduil tried to rouse him, he just shrugged him away irritably. In the end, the elf got dressed, grabbed a passing mouthful in the dining hall and continued on down to the great library of Erebor where he had been studying some interesting parchments for the past few days. But they could no longer capture his attention. Instead, he stared blindly into space and continued to wonder where Thorin had been, why he was so tired and why he had felt the need for a bath in the middle of the night.

.o00o.

By the time they met up again, late that afternoon, Thorin was cheerful and alert once more and things seemed back to normal. Thranduil gave himself a mental slap on the wrist and the last remnants of suspicion disappeared as Thorin dragged him into bed for a spontaneous bit of love-making just before they went down to dine. They were so perfect together, thought the elf, as the dwarf disappeared between his out-stretched thighs, that he couldn't imagine either of them ever finding anyone else who suited them half as well. And he gave himself up to the ecstasy of probing tongue and lips with a helpless groan.

Later, in the dining hall, they grinned surreptitiously at each other across the table until Brangwyn dug Thranduil in the ribs and tutted softly at him: "You two are a disgrace," she said with mock severity. "I think that everyone must guess what you've been up to this afternoon." The elven king looked startled and a faint blush might even have coloured his icy cheek, but Thorin, hearing what she said, threw back his shaggy head and laughed.

An embarrassed Thranduil glanced down the long table to see how many dwarves knew what the laughter was about and was relieved to see that they all seemed to be chatting amongst themselves, oblivious of the interchange between the two kings and their friend. But, he suddenly noticed one young dwarf – a handsome lad, very muscular and with white-blond hair falling in dishevelled curls about his shoulders – who stared at the laughing Thorin and almost seemed to be glowering at him. Perhaps one who disapproved of his relationship with an elf, Thranduil guessed.

"Who's that?" he asked Brangwyn. "I don't think I recognise him."

"No, you wouldn't," she replied. "He's newly arrived from the Iron Hills and is training to be a smith in our forges. He's called Owein."

The next few days were uneventful, until suddenly the elven king woke up once more in the middle of the night to find Thorin missing yet again. This time, he would not wait. This time, he would go in search of him. He threw a robe around his shoulders and, marching to the end of the corridor, asked the guard if his king had passed that way. The guard nodded and pointed. And, by constant enquiries, Thranduil eventually finished up at the top of a flight of stairs that led down to the forges.

The forges! Had Thorin had an urge to work at the anvil once more? But why on earth did he feel the need to do this on the quiet without telling his partner? As he descended the steps, Thranduil was puzzled and even rather anxious. He moved onto a balcony that overlooked the great forge area where dwarves worked both night and day: only a sprinkling at night these days, admittedly, since they had reclaimed the vast treasures of Erebor. But, some still felt the urge to create. He had heard the ringing of hammer upon anvil all the way down the staircase and so he wasn't surprised to see a handful of dwarves at work.

And there, just below him, was Thorin! Thranduil had never seen him at the anvil - although he had heard him speak of his shame at the way he had been forced to work in the forges of men – and the elf was suddenly finding it hard to breathe. He looked magnificent and somehow totally in the right place. He was stripped to the waist and, in the glow of the forges, his muscles rippled and shone with the sweat that glistened on his chest and arms. And the skill with which he swung the hammer was a sight to see: complete control. Thranduil stood there mesmerised. The image was both powerful and erotic and the elven king couldn't wait for his lover to return to his bed.

Thranduil was about to go back to their apartment, there to await Thorin's return, when one of the other smiths called out to Thorin and the dwarf paused in his labour. The elf looked to see who had attracted his attention and, with a sudden cold start, he saw it was the blond-haired young dwarf whom he had noticed in the dining-hall. Thorin lay down his tools and walked across to him. The young lad seemed to be showing him his work with a measure of dissatisfaction – was he asking for Thorin's advice? The dwarven king then gestured to him to continue and watched him carefully. He shook his head and demonstrated himself but the lad didn't seem able to imitate his stroke.

Then – and Thranduil clutched the railing – Thorin stood behind him, holding the lad's arms and guiding him. For a moment, the youngster closed his eyes and leaned back against Thorin's powerful chest before letting his king show him the correct way to bring down his hammer upon the metal. And, after this brief demonstration, Thorin laughed and returned to his own anvil.

Thranduil stood frozen to the spot. He had seen the expression on the young dwarf's face and he had seen the way that Thorin had held him, so intimately, against his chest. After a long time, the elf ascended the staircase and walked slowly back to his room. There, he climbed into bed once more and waited. Thorin came back two hours later and went straight to the bath. Thranduil was not surprised, considering the filth of the forge. But was this the only reason? And, again, the elf pretended to be asleep when Thorin climbed into bed.

The dwarf left a good space between them, but this time, he faced his lover. The elven king waited until he was fast asleep and then edged cautiously backwards until he was pressed against his chest. Just like that young dwarf, he thought. It was a sensuous sensation, to feel the muscles and the silken hair against his back; and he reached for Thorin's exposed arm and wrapped it gently around himself. Thus enclosed in his king's powerful embrace, he finally fell asleep.

.o00o.

Pt 2

Stolen Kisses

The following morning, Thorin was too tired to get up again and a worried Thranduil went thoughtfully down to the dining hall for breakfast. There Balin came and sat next to him with a furrowed brow. "Can you bring Thorin to a meeting with me this afternoon?" he asked. "It's a dwarven matter but I think he may want you there." The elf nodded and wondered what it was all about.

Thorin got up late in the morning and seemed quite sluggish but, at Thranduil's encouragement, they both went along to Balin's apartments for the mystery chat. It wasn't just Balin there but also his brother, Dwalin, together with Oin and Ori.

"So, what's this all about?" grinned Thorin, expecting something simple like a celebration to mark the anniversary of their return to Erebor or somesuch. But the assembled dwarves looked serious.

"Some of us are thinking of getting together a party to retake Moria," said Balin. "Oin and Ori, here, want to come with me and I have a list of names of other dwarves who have shown an interest in joining our group." And he handed over a parchment to his king. "We shan't be going straight away but we thought that you needed to know our intentions."

Thorin slowly perused the document and then turned pained eyes towards, Dwalin, his life-long and closest friend. "You, too, Dwalin?" he asked quietly. But Dwalin shook his head.

"No," he said gruffly. "My place is by your side and there I shall stay until the end of my days."

Thorin reached out and touched his friend's shoulder. "Thank you," he said quietly. And then he turned to the other three. "You may go to your death," he said. "Who knows what horror awaits in the depths of the mines? It is not just the remaining orcs you might have to contend with."

"When we came on your quest," replied Balin, "it seemed that we were going to our deaths; and yet, we survived. I now have a quest of my own and I wish to go on it before I die."

Thorin nodded slowly and with understanding. "If this is what you wish to do then I shall not stop you. But many tears will be shed at our parting."

"And much joy and celebration shall be had when we receive you all in the reclaimed halls of Khazad-dum," Balin replied with a smile.

The small group embraced, but when Thorin returned to his apartment it was with a worried look on his face. "I fear the worst," he said to Thranduil.

That night, the elf took him in his arms and comforted him. "It may be years before they set out," he said. "Much may happen in that time." And, for Thorin's sake, he pushed to the back of his mind the scene he had witnessed in the forges.

.o00o.

A few days passed uneventfully…..and then Thorin disappeared from his bed again. On finding him gone, Thranduil got up, tossed on a robe and set out for the forges. He walked quietly onto the balcony and immediately saw Thorin and the lad, Owein, already in close conversation together.

Owein apparently needed help again and, again, Thorin stood behind him in order to show him the stance he needed to take up. His tools were still lying on the anvil, and, as Thorin held onto him, the lad suddenly turned in his king's arms and, sliding a hand behind his neck, seized him by the nape and pulled him down to kiss him voraciously. Thorin's response was to clutch the young dwarf passionately by his white-gold curls.

Thranduil's stomach gave a sickening lurch and, unable to watch any further, he turned on his heel and almost ran back to the apartment. Ah, Thorin! He knew deep down that, in the end, it would come to this. The temptations of his dwarven kind had eventually become too much for him. His emotions churning and his heart breaking, he got dressed for travel and then waited in the bedroom. He couldn't leave without saying goodbye, even if that must be, of necessity, a bitter one.

.o00o.

Back in the forges, a startled Thorin had seized Owein by the hair and finally managed to tug his lips away. "What are you doing, lad?" he gasped.

"I love you," pleaded the young dwarf. "Don't turn me away. I'll do anything just to be with you. Make me your slave! Let me be your secret lover! Anything! Just ask anything of me and I will do it!" He was weeping and Thorin, torn between disgust and pity, just didn't know what to do.

Finally, he held him firmly by the shoulders and gave him a little shake. "I am your king," he said severely, "and I command you to listen to me and to obey my will." Owein looked up pleadingly at him and tried to sniff away the snot and tears.

"My love is given to another," he continued. "I love, and I shall always love, Thranduil of Mirkwood. You must turn your thoughts away from such foolishness."

Owein tried to reach for Thorin again but the dwarven king thrust him even more firmly away. "I cannot live without you," sobbed the lad. "I cannot look upon you and know that you will never be mine. Take pity on me!"

"I do pity you," said Thorin quietly. "And my pity is such that I am banishing you to Ered Luin where you will not be tormented by gazing on my face. It is a beautiful place where the dwarven smiths will teach you many skills."

Owein slid to the floor and continued weeping but Thorin marched back to his own anvil and began to put away the things of great beauty that he had been forging there. There was a most exquisite breast plate, made of mithril and chased with gold. Next to it lay a pair of matching greaves. They were the best things he had ever forged and he touched them gently. They were for his beloved, Thranduil, and he had been making them secretly for some weeks now. Then he smiled as he imagined the elf's face when he gave him these very special gifts. He put them away and strode off, past the still weeping Owein, and up the stairs.

.o00o.

Pt 3

Goodbye, My Love

Thorin hurried back to his rooms. Only one more night and his present would be finished. He hated sneaking off like this but how else could he make a surprise gift for the one he loved? He entered the apartment quietly, stripped off his filthy clothing and gently eased himself into the pool. He had just started to relax in the warm water, when the door from the bedroom was thrown open and Thranduil marched in. Oh dear, thought Thorin, opening one eye. I've woken him up. I didn't think I would get away with this for much longer. The dwarf looked up at the elf with an apologetic grimace but Thranduil seemed angry for some reason. He picked up the filthy clothing from the floor and held it disdainfully between finger and thumb.

"I know where you've been – what you've been up to," he said coldly, "and you disgust me. I'm returning to Mirkwood and you are not to follow me. I want nothing more to do with such as you!" And he flung the clothes back down on the floor and strode from the room.

Thorin was so startled that he slipped on the marble and disappeared under the water. When he emerged, spluttering and gasping, Thranduil was gone. He climbed out of the pool feeling numb and confused. So, Thranduil knew he had been working in the forge…..and he was so disgusted that he couldn't bear to live with him any more?

He didn't understand. Or maybe he did. They were both kings and the arrogant elf obviously couldn't stomach the thought of his partner working and sweating and making himself filthy in the forges. It was just too…..dwarven. Well, thought Thorin angrily, nor could he stomach living with a creature so effete that he thought that anyone who worked with the sweat of his brow was somehow beneath him. And he boiled with righteous anger, picking up a delicate vase that Thranduill had given to him and throwing it across the room so that it smashed into a thousand pieces.

The elven king was striding down the corridor towards the stables also boiling with righteous anger. Well, that told him, he thought. Now he knows I saw him in the forges with Owein and that I will not tolerate him giving his body to anyone else but me. We're finished and I shall never return to Erebor again. His fury carried him for at least ten miles but then his heart broke and it was an emotionally destroyed elven king who finally rode through the gates of his palace.

.o00o.

Back in Erebor, Thorin fumed as he paced around his apartment for most of the day. He had been too angry to sleep and he was in a bleary and disturbed state when he finally went down that evening to dine. He sat glowering in a corner and it was only Dwalin who finally had the courage to approach him. "What's wrong, Thorin?" he asked. Thorin gave him such a speaking look, full of fury and pain, that Dwalin was left aghast. And then, without a word, the king pushed back his chair and strode from the hall. Balin signalled with a hook of his head and, after a moment of hesitation, the big dwarf hurried after his friend.

Dwalin was just in time to see Thorin disappear into his rooms and he shouldered his way through the door after him. "Who invited you in?" snarled the king and stomped off into the bedroom. His friend, just as angry, marched in after him.

"Don't talk to me like that," he snapped, "when I have come to help you. You look as though you have need of friends at the moment and you're lucky that I'm one of the few who isn't afraid of your bad temper."

For a moment, Thorin looked as though he were about to hit him and then he sank down upon the bed, his head in his hands. "Thranduil's left me," he said bleakly. But, Dwalin gave a snort of laughter.

Is that all?" he asked. "How many times have you two left each other and have then made up the very next day?"

No," said Thorin calmly, letting his hands drop in his lap. "This time it's different. I have lost him…..and I don't know what to do." And slowly, the tears began to stream down his face.

Nor did Dwalin know what to do: he had never seen Thorin cry before, not even when he had heard that his nephews had been killed in battle. He sat next to him and hesitantly pulled his head down upon his shoulder. The king buried his face in his neck and Dwalin felt the wetness of his tears there. And so, he gently began to stroke his long, dark hair with large, clumsy hands and tried to murmur words of comfort. "It's all right. I'm here. I'll look after you." And his words held a truth: he was always there for Thorin – he had always looked after him. Because he loved him.

Thorin was dazed with lack of sleep and with a hundred miserable thoughts. As he heard his friend whisper those comforting words, he reached out gratefully to him. He slid a hand up around that powerful neck and lifted his face, his eyes closed, for a kiss – almost like a child. For more than a hundred years, Dwalin had fought the attraction that he felt for his king but, as that beautiful face was lifted so trustingly to his own, his control broke and he bent and gently brushed his lips across those that were being offered so freely to him.

Thorin groaned and fastened his mouth upon Dwalin's. He needed this – something fierce and physical from someone who loved him, someone who really loved him. And Dwalin had loved him for a long time, hopelessly and without asking for anything in return.

Thorin fell back upon the bed and pulled his friend on top of him. This must be how I feel to Thranduil, he thought: big and muscular and hairy. The thought aroused him and he kissed Dwalin deeply and with all the love that was due to him for his years and years of service. The great dwarf was gasping and breathing with difficulty and, as his tongue moved tentatively inside Thorin's mouth, the king suddenly realised in a flash of understanding that his friend must still be a virgin. A great wave of tenderness washed over him and he rolled Dwalin beneath him and stroked his face gently. "Don't be afraid," he said quietly and he unbuttoned the dwarf's clothes and then his own, shrugging quickly out of them before helping Dwalin to remove his too.

Thorin slid a hand between the dwarf's thighs. Too big to penetrate me, he thought; and so he dipped his head. Dwalin squirmed and moaned and it wasn't long before he jerked violently in endless spasms, clutching all the while at Thorin's hair. And when Thorin finally surfaced, it was to take the big, trembling dwarf in his arms. And, thus, the two of them slept.

When they both awoke an hour or so later, Thorin looked honestly into his friend's eyes. But Dwalin lowered his gaze and, shifting uncomfortably, began to edge from the bed. "And where do you think you're going?" asked the king, amused at the dwarf's reaction.

"I thought you'd want me to leave," muttered Dwalin, "now that you've had a bit of time to think about it."

Thorin reached out an arm and pulled him back upon the pillow. "I need you," he said quietly. "The only one who has never deserted me throughout my entire life. Are you going to desert me now?"

"Of course not," was the mumbled response. And still he couldn't bring himself to look at Thorin. "You know that I love you. But, you love Thranduil and perhaps that was a – umm – mistake a few hours ago. I thought it was best that I went and then we could pretend that things never happened and just carry on as before."

Thorin stroked his cheek gently. "I couldn't bear to be rejected by you too, old friend," he murmured. "Do you really wish that what happened between us had never happened?"

Dwalin looked up quickly then and was immediately lost in his king's blue eyes. "No – no," he stuttered. "I shall always remember that. But perhaps you don't need me any more."

"I need you very much," replied the dwarven king and he leaned forward and kissed Dwalin softly. "Just tell me what you want."

His friend dropped his eyes quickly once more and blushed a fiery red. "I've dreamed – I've dreamed – I've wanted…."

"Yes?" encouraged Thorin, moved by the yearning and the emotion in his tones.

Dwalin's voice dropped to such a whisper that Thorin could hardly hear him and so he ran a gentle hand over the dwarf's huge and muscled arm. "Tell me," he urged gently.

"I've dreamed of you inside me," Dwalin finally blurted out and then he clamped his lips together in embarrassment.

Thorin kissed him on the forehead. "And at this precise moment," he replied, "I can't think of anywhere that I would rather be." And he reached over to the bowl by the bedside and slowly oiled his fingers.

It was strange to be inside someone other than Thranduil, but it was still very satisfying. And Dwalin gave himself so utterly to Thorin that the king couldn't help but feel all that overwhelming love and give back his love in return.

The big dwarf's stamina was as immense as his enjoyment. And it was some hours later that they finally both collapsed laughing on each other. Thorin felt a temporary release from all the pain of Thranduil's desertion. Perhaps I can now live on without him, he thought, when there is so much love here to support me.

But after they had slept again, he awoke as the dawn came and, finding himself cradled not in the elf's arms but in Dwalin's, he wept. His friend understood and held him close, stroking his hair. "I know that I can never be enough," he said sadly, "but you should also know that I am always here." Then he rose from the bed and got dressed and, this time, Thorin made no attempt to stop him.

.o00o.

Pt IV

Accidental Resolution

The next morning, Owein, in a vile mood, rode out from Erebor in the direction of Ered Luin. He had offered his love on his knees and had been rejected. And it was all the fault of that elven king who had somehow enchanted Thorin, probably with spells. If only he could release him from this woodland magic then he was sure that his king would turn to him in gratitude.

When he finally rode into Mirkwood, his temper was at boiling point. And when the elven road eventually led him past Thranduil's palace, he hesitated for a moment and then turned his horse towards the gate.

Since the marriage ceremony between Thranduil and Thorin, dwarf/elf relationships had greatly improved. The guards were very relaxed when they saw a young dwarf approaching and when he said that he brought a message from Thorin to their lord, they casually let him in and directed him to Thranduil's chambers.

No-one except Dwalin knew of the breakdown in the relationship between the two kings and when Owein saw Thranduil sitting downcast and miserable next to a large and airy window from which there was a view of the Lonely Mountain, he assumed that his wretched demeanour was just a result of their temporary separation. But, as he walked into the room, Thranduil rose slowly to his feet and, pointing an accusatory finger at him, growled: "You! What are you doing here?"

Owein took a step back, startled by the venom in his voice. But he had come to have his say and so he pressed on. "You don't deserve him!" he yelled. "If he wasn't so obsessed with you, then he would want me!" Thranduil's finger wavered and dropped in surprise at the attack upon him.

"There he is," the lad continued, "sweating and labouring in the forges in the middle of the night, just to create something beautiful for you. But, you don't deserve his time, his efforts or his love." He paused to catch his breath whilst the elf sat there with his mouth open.

"You're not even one of his own kind, so why he should want you when he could have me is beyond my understanding – unless you are using magic! And I demand that you release him from your spells!" Owein stood there panting and, if looks could kill, then Thranduil would have been lying dead at his feet.

The king stared fixedly at him in the silence that suddenly descended. And then he gave an exhausted laugh.

"How dare you laugh at me!" the boy yelled.

The elf smiled wanly. "I'm not laughing at you," he murmured, "but at myself. Because I am such a fool. Now," he continued, rising elegantly to his feet, "if you would just excuse me, I must return to Erebor. You have my deepest thanks." And, on this unexpected note, he swept from the room, leaving a confused Owein behind him.

.o00o.

It was late that evening when Thranduil arrived. But, Thorin wasn't in his room nor was he in the dining hall. He noticed Dwalin glowering at him from a dark corner and he sighed inwardly. He must know that I deserted him, he thought. I'll have to work hard to find favour with him again. Nonetheless, although the glare could have punctured rock, he approached the dwarf and bowed courteously. "I'm looking for Thorin," he said politely.

For a few moments, the elf thought that he wasn't going to get an answer. But what did he expect from Thorin's closest friend? Even more politely, he added: "I have come to make amends." But, if he thought that this would help, he was due for a disappointment.

Dwalin sat and sized up the elven king. He had to admit that he felt a selfish annoyance that Thranduil had returned. And then he laughed at himself. What was he thinking? That Thorin would call him nightly to his bed? No, he had to admit to himself that those wonderful hours with his king were only meant to happen once. He had never thought that something like that would _ever_ happen and he must cherish the memory and move on.

"He's down in the forges," he finally said with reluctance. Thranduil was about to express his thanks but Dwalin suddenly lunged forward and seized him by the wrist. "And don't you dare hurt him again," he hissed, "or, Mahal help me, I'll….." He left the threat dangling but the elf felt its force.

"You have my word," he replied quietly. And Dwalin let him go.

.o00o.

As he descended to the forges, Thranduil could hear a solitary hammer clanging against metal and guessed that it was Thorin. From the balcony, he could see that he was right and his heart twisted painfully in his chest as he saw the almost frenzied pounding of the hammer on a lump of shining mithril. The dwarf's hair was an untidy and a tangled mass; the sweat dripped in great beads from his forehead and his eyes seemed to stare without seeing as if he worked the mithril only by touch. As if, thought the elf, I were that lump of metal that he would pound into nothingness.

Thranduil could bear to watch Thorin exhaust himself no more and, leaning on the railing, called down to him. The dwarf froze and then let his tools fall from his nerveless hands with a clatter upon the floor. For a long moment, their eyes met and then Thorin, breaking contact, bent down and slowly and deliberately began to pack his tools away.

"Wait!" called Thranduil as he rushed down the stairs. "I must talk with you!"

"Must you," growled Thorin, not looking up but continuing to tidy his belongings. "But surely I am too sweaty and filthy to engage in conversation with an elven king? Perhaps you should demand that I have a bath first."

Thranduil blinked. What was the dwarf driving at?

Thorin swung his leather bag over his shoulder and finally turned to face the elf. "I thought you never wanted to see me again," he said cuttingly. "It would appear that I must be strong for both of us." And he brushed past Thranduil and started to mount the stairs.

In desperation, the king called after him: "I saw Owein kiss you!"

Thorin paused, then turned and faced his lover angrily. "So, that's what this is all about," he snarled.

"I know I was mistaken in what I saw," pleaded the elf.

"And I'm supposed to forgive you, even though your declared eternal love for me didn't extend to a discussion of what you _thought_ you saw?" Then with an exclamation of disgust, he turned from Thranduil once more.

The elven king ran after him and, in an effort to stop the dwarf, he seized the leather bag. The bag was ripped from Thorin's shoulder and fell on the stairs, sliding and bouncing down the steps until it reached the bottom and spilled its contents on the floor. Thranduil gasped an apology and hastened to restore the objects to the bag. But he paused as he picked up a greave and then a breastplate of exquisite beauty.

These are wonderful," he said quietly as Thorin grabbed them from him and stuffed them away. "Owein said that you were making some objects of great beauty for me. Are these what he meant?" The dwarf didn't answer but, snatching the bag from the elf's grasp, he made for the stairs again.

"I failed to discuss things with you," Thranduil called out in agony. "Will you make the same mistake?"

Thorin turned and came back slowly towards him. His anger was molten. "What have you done, Thranduil?" he cried. "You will never know what you have done!" And he thought of Dwalin.

The elf hung his head in shame. "Is it impossible for you to forgive me? Shall I return to Mirkwood?" he whispered.

"Yes, I think you should!" was the angry answer. Then Thorin spun on his heel – and nearly walked into Dwalin's broad chest.

The big dwarf stood with arms akimbo. "You two are the greatest fools of my acquaintance," he snorted. "You love each other and yet you are determined to destroy what you have got – what some of us would give our right arm for." Then he laid a gentle hand on Thorin's shoulder. "Forgive him," he said, "because his love for you is so great." The two looked steadily at each other and then Thorin clasped Dwalin about the neck and hugged him.

"Thank you," he said softly in his ear. And he felt as though his friend had somehow released him from a commitment. Dwalin gave him a nod and slipped away.

"You have some very staunch friends," said Thranduil. And the relief that Dwalin had come to his aid was apparent in his face.

"Yes, I have," replied Thorin. "Some of them are very dear to me." And you will never know just how dear, he thought. Then he stretched out his arms to Thranduil and the elf embraced him and buried his face in his hair with a great sigh.

.o00o.

The sex had been prolonged and very rough as they had sought to punish each other and themselves, but now they lay lovingly together as they slowly closed their eyes in sleep. "I shall be sore for a week," murmured Thranduil with a soft groan.

"You deserve to be sore for a year," muttered Thorin, "after the way you treated me."

"I thought I was forgiven," grumbled the elf, opening one eye.

"Well," was the response, "it's more fun to forgive you slowly. Very slowly." And he grinned against his lover's throat.

Thranduil felt the movement of his lips and raised a sleepy protest. "Stop laughing at me, you wretched creature," he complained.

The dwarf took that beloved face tenderly between his great hands and kissed him long and deeply. "As if I would ever laugh at you," he said. "You are the most serious thing in my life. Now go to sleep, my love." And he pulled Thranduil against his chest and brought down his golden head to nestle on his shoulder and soon the elf was fast asleep.

But, Thorin lay awake for hours, thinking of Dwalin. Would he ever confess his night with the great dwarven warrior to Thranduil, he wondered? No, never. That was a pointless and a selfish exercise, designed merely to lift the burden of guilt from off his own shoulders and to create distress in another's heart. He would have to bear it himself and it would be his punishment. And, as the dawn came, Thorin eventually fell asleep.

.o00o.

One more story next week which touches on that perennial question that keeps us awake at night, LOL! _The Kings: Top or Bottom_?


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